


Hands

by Anythingtoasted



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Batcave, Coda, Fallen Castiel, Fluff, M/M, Men of Letters Headquarters, Post Episode: s08e23 Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 15:25:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anythingtoasted/pseuds/Anythingtoasted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>massage. schmoop. fallen!cas. Post-s8.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands

Dean’s good with his hands.

He says so to the shell of Castiel’s ear, voice pitched low, after he’s noticed the way Castiel moves his head around constantly; how he twists his neck to work out the cricks, how he hunches forward, wincing, sometimes. Getting used to being human comes with a whole mess of problems, the least of which is back pain, but it’s at least a problem that Dean can actually  _help_ with.

So Dean talks him into it from behind his chair in the library, mouth close to his face, thumbs rubbing circles against his collarbones, making Castiel tip his head back onto Dean’s shoulder. And maybe it’s not  _entirely_ altruistic of him, true, but it’ll help,  _really_ help, and that’s the important part.

He leads Castiel into his room; sits him down, gets him to pull off his shirt, whilst Castiel looks at him mildly – reserved, his hands planted firmly on his own thighs. Dean has to coax him to lie on his belly on the bed; has to tell him what to do because for all his surprising finesse in getting to grips with “the human thing”, he’s surprisingly unfamiliar with the concept of relaxing. No wonder he’s got fucking back pain; he’s always so  _tense._

Once he’s down, Dean sits astride Castiel’s naked lower back; knows Cas can take the weight, fallen or not. He smiles when he first gets his palms over Castiel’s shoulders, and Castiel groans.

He works at him, slow; kneads the skin of his shoulders with his thumbs and fingers, pressing against his skin, finding the knots in his muscles, of which there are a  _lot._ Dean used to do this for Sammy – they’ve done it for each other – but never was it like this; this intimate, this  _lovely._ Castiel’s skin is so warm, just like Dean imagined it would be, and the  _noise_ is astonishing; Castiel gasps and sighs like no one ever taught him not to, and the release in his voice is so clear that Dean is flushed more with every syllable that escapes him.

He moves his hands up and down the span of Castiel’s back, carefully; presses his thumbs against his spine and gets in there deep; Castiel huffs half a sob when Dean finds Castiel’s lower back with his palms and holds his hips, working his thumbs in slow circles against the dimples either side of Castiel’s spine. Castiel says his name in a dreamy sort of murmur, and suddenly the air between them is stiflingly hot, and Dean is sitting on top of him, and for some reason before then he never considered what someone might think, finding them like this; Castiel moaning around his hands, Dean sitting astride him, mouth hanging open, skin flushed all over.

He works his hands back up, digging his fingers in slow circles all over him, trying not to make noise in response to how Castiel keens and fucking  _whimpers_ under his hands – how, just once, he says “Dean, oh,  _Dean,_ ”

He doesn’t want to misinterpret it; this, of course, is just a favour for a friend. He gets off Castiel – swings his leg over and sits on the bed beside him, when he’s done, then scrambles to his feet, trying not to look like he’s got half a boner (which is pretty difficult, to be honest) – and Castiel stays there, his head pillowed on his arms, his eyes half-lidded in bliss. His body is limp, boneless, and he turns slowly to look at Dean. He reaches out his arm, and Dean – because he knows no other way to react – puts his hand out to shake Castiel’s hand. Castiel, supposedly socially inept ex-angel of the lord, laughs tiredly against the bedclothes.

“Dean, get back down here.” He says, exasperated, and tugs him back down onto the bed; guides him to lie beside him. “I think it worked.” He says, and yawns; and Dean is just watching him, lying beside him, wondering what’s going to happen next.

“You gonna sleep now?”

“I was planning on it.” Castiel closes his eyes and yawns again. He wraps his arm around Dean’s shoulders, pulling him against his chest. “In the morning, we should have sex.” He says casually, and Dean coughs.

“Yeah, okay.” His voice comes out slightly too high.

Castiel huffs a sigh – he says, “Good. I’m glad that’s settled.” And within moments he’s snoring against Dean’s cheek, expression slack with contentment; holding Dean against him, his lips parted in a soft, satisfied sigh. 


End file.
